


Tea-Induced

by lifespossible



Series: Sherlock Sleeps (One Way or Another) [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 20:52:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifespossible/pseuds/lifespossible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is refusing to sleep. John takes matters into his own hands.</p>
<p>Established Johnlock, fluff</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea-Induced

Since moving into 221b, John Watson had become many things. Smarter, more observant, a boyfriend, to name a few. He had also, not entirely on purpose, become an expert of signs of fatigue. Particularly the ones that came from a certain consulting detective, no matter how much said detective fought them off.

John had gotten used to Sherlock's less-than-healthy habits, and they had found ways to come to compromises around most of them. Sherlock eats a meal here, John won't complain about an hour or two of the shrieking violin. Sherlock's experiments aren't performed on John's possessions, John overlooks a few body parts that inhabit the top shelf of the refrigerator. They had yet, however, to find a way to reach a compromise over the current matter of bickering at the moment: Sherlock's sleep.

"Sherlock, you haven't slept in _four days_. Even your body and its amazing ability not collapse can't do that," John was saying. He was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, watching as Sherlock paced around their flat.

"I am fine, John," Sherlock muttered without looking towards the doctor. He continued his fast-paced walk, back and forth and back and forth from the window to the doorframe of the kitchen, his blue dressing gown swirling in his wake. His long fingers were steepled and pressed underneath his chin, and John could practically hear his mind whirling all the way in the kitchen.

John frowned. He knew Sherlock was tired. He had come to recognize the signs that pointed towards Sherlock's almost-invisible sleepiness. His movements were a tad jerkier than normal, Sherlock's body struggling to keep up with what his mind was forcing it to do. He was wearing the dressing gown, despite still being on a case. Sherlock's dressing gown did not appear unless the detective had no intention of going outside of the flat. However, he was also wearing his usual silk shirt and nice trousers, and he had socks on, which meant he could throw off the dressing gown and be gone in a flash. This meant that Sherlock had sought out the dressing gown, and, despite being on the case, didn't really want to leave the flat. Not that he would ever say it aloud.

John sighed. "Please, Sherlock," he said, running a hand over his face. Another sign, though it was a bit unreliable- John felt tired. This case hadn't kept only Sherlock awake, after all. John was running on two hours of sleep from the previous night, and while that may have been enough for Sherlock to function for days on end, it did not sufficiently meet the doctor's sleep needs. "You've already blown up Lestrade's phone with instructions, and he hasn't replied with anything other than 'shut up'. It's going to be a couple hours before he manages to get through them all, even without the rest of his crew tagging along."

"No matter," Sherlock said, still not looking at John. "I refuse to be asleep for the inevitable text, asking for my help over some trivial manner." The detective threw himself onto the couch, stretching out to occupy the full length.

John sighed again, letting Sherlock's remark hang in the air. Giving up on asking nicely, John moved onto the backup plan that he had been saving for quite some time now- he knew that once he used it, Sherlock would never forget it and the plan would then never work again. But while he had dealt with Sherlock on days where one or two nights had passed sleepless, but three (going on four) was where the doctor drew the line.

So John propelled himself off of the counter, picking up the kettle and, after a quick check for extraneous body parts, filled it with water and switched it on. He then started digging around the cabinets, looking for the sleep-bringing tea that he had purchased before he and Sherlock had become a couple in hopes of escaping nightmares of Afghanistan (no longer too painful), Moriarty strapping him into that horrible vest (still pretty terrifying), and Sherlock's fall (still really painful, still really terrifying). He had used the tea a couple of times, and found that it worked as well as the box promised. However, when one was dealing with Sherlock Holmes, one could not expect the same results that one had previously gotten. So John also took down a small bottle that he had hidden inside of an empty tea box, not worried that Sherlock would find it, seeing as the only time the man even attempted to make tea was when John was sick. He hadn't been sick since before he had hidden it.

John shook out two small white pills. He replaced the bottle and took out two mugs and a knife. Quickly and silently, John crushed the two white pills into a powder. He then poured the tea into the mugs, then brushed the powder into the one that would be Sherlock's. He added a splash of milk to his, and two sugars to Sherlock's, then carried them out to the living room.

Sherlock took the offered mug from John's hand without protest. After a shouting match about Sherlock's health and a mug being hurled at John's head, Sherlock had started taking tea and the occasional snack without needing an incentive.

John moved to his chair in front of the fireplace, hiding his triumphant grin behind his own tea.

It didn't take long for the tea's intended purpose to take effect. Before he had finished the cup, Sherlock's eyes were drooping. John stood quickly, managing to pull the detective up off the couch and move him into their shared bedroom.

"You put...melatonin in the tea," Sherlock mumbled as John climbed into the bed with him.

John only hummed in response, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist and nuzzling his face into Sherlock's shoulder.

It was in this position that Lestrade later found them, both asleep and breathing heavily. The DI had rolled his eyes and walked back out of his flat, but not before leaving a note for them to come in and give their statements for the now-finished case. Because even the London police force knew that Sherlock needed to sleep, and that John was just about the only reason he ever got any.


End file.
